The Warlock's Companion (3 page)

"Mayhap a part of it is that we do abide close by them."

Rod sighed. "Yeah, maybe we do need a change of scenery to really relax." He looked up about himself, somewhat surprised. "And it looks as though we've had one. When did we come into the forest?"

Broad branches spread a canopy above them, stemming from tall old trees, foot-thick and rough-barked, with here and there a yard-wide veteran soaring up into the dim, dark greenery above—a murmuring roof, lanced by shafts of light so pale as to be almost silver. They gazed up, exalted, feeling their souls expand in the openness…

Until a four-foot body shot through a beam, laughing in delight while a half-grown juggernaut speared after him on a broomstick, shouting happy predictions of dire doom.

"Children!" Gwen cried, and Geoffrey jerked to a halt in midair, then swerved over to the nearest tree. Cordelia dropped to the ground, trying to hide her broomstick behind her back, while the elm next to her brother seemed to waver, then solidified again, a bit wider than it had been—and Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.

"Nay, then, I ken thy presence," Gwen said in tones that evoked dread, "and thou knowest thou hast gone against the rule. Come out from that elm where thou dost hide."

"He could not help it, Mama!" Cordelia cried. "I did spring upon him and…" She hushed and bit her lip at a glare from Gwen.

"Thy sister's intercession will not save thee," Gwen informed the elm, "for thou hadst no need to fly an thou didst wish to flee. Come out!"

The silence stretched to the point of snapping, and Rod was just opening his mouth to point out that, after all, nobody had been hurt, and it wasn't really all
that
great an infraction (though he knew he shouldn't), when Geoffrey saved him by stepping out from the tree. His head was down and his shoulders hunched, but he was there, and the tree was slender again. Rod swung down from Fess's back, bracing himself for a shouting match—then decided to let Gwen start it. He was tired.

Gwen sat on her high horse, glaring down.

Geoffrey glowered back up at her.

Gwen's face was stone.

Geoffrey held his glare, but began to fidget.

Gwen waited.

"Well, then, I did wrongly!" Geoffrey burst out. "Thou hast told us time and again not to fly in a forest, and I disobeyed!"

"A good beginning," Gwen said, with an air of finality.

Geoffrey glowered up again, slowly wilting. Finally, he dropped his gaze and muttered, "I am sorry, Mama."

"Better," Gwen pronounced. "And wilt thou do it again?"

"Nay, Mama."

"Wherefore?"

"For that thou hast said so."

"
Nay
! Though 'twould be good, 'tis not enough! Wherefore have I forbade thee to fly in a wood?"

"For that I might dash out my brains 'gainst a tree trunk," Geoffrey muttered. Then he glared up at her again. "Yet I never have!"

Gwen only stared.

"Oh, aye, there was that time two years agone, when I did knock myself senseless." Geoffrey dropped his eyes again. "And three years agone, when I came home quite dazed—yet I was little then!"

"And hast better aim now, surely. Nay, now thou'lt strike squarely on the center of thy crown."

"I'll not strike at all!" Geoffrey's jaw jutted. "I am more practiced now, Mama!"

"Yes," Rod agreed, "he's gotten so good at it that now he can flatten his head completely."

"I shall not! I shall slip 'twixt the trees like a sky-borne eel!"

"Quite a vision, that." Rod imagined a flock of flying eels, wriggling their way across the heavens. "But with all those eels, wouldn't it be a little dangerous for you?"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Canst thou never be serious, Papa?"

"Thou wouldst not wish him to be," Gwen assured the boy.

But Rod shrugged. "I'm willing." He pointed a finger at Geoffrey. "Just for that, you can
walk
all the way to the castle."

Geoffrey glared at him, and Rod felt a surge upward. In the split second before it could happen, though, he thought
downward
. Geoffrey frowned as though something were wrong; his face tightened with effort. Rod felt the boy's power of levitation pushing against his own telekinetic force, and pressed harder. Then Gwen dismounted, and he felt her effort join his. He eased up.

But Geoffrey didn't. His face reddened; his shoulders hunched with the effort.

Gwen leaned back against Rod, showing not the slightest sign of strain.

Geoffrey abandoned the effort, foreboding shadowing his gaze. "Thou dost conspire against me!"

"No, we just agree on the rules and the punishments."

" 'Tis even as I've said." Geoffrey gave them his best glower, or tried to. He couldn't simply capitulate, of course. Rod understood that, and allowed him his face-saver.

"It is indeed—but it does let you know what happens if you disobey."

"Didst
thou
never disobey when thou wast small?" Geoffrey squalled.

Rod reddened. "That's beside the point—and that's enough nattering about it, too. Come on, let's go."

He turned away, shouldering through the brush. Gwen watched him go in mild surprise, then turned back to her children with a slight smile and a nod of the head. "Come, then. Thou hast heard."

They followed her away through the trees, Cordelia and Gregory now perched on Fess's back.

"There could have been worse punishments," Cordelia ventured.

"Oh, he still!" Geoffrey snapped. " 'Tis not the effort doth chafe me."

"Nay, 'tis the shame," Magnus agreed. "Yet there's naught to rue in giving respect to thine elders."

"Including thee, belike?" Geoffrey said, with scorn. "Nay, I wager that Papa was mindful of enduring just such shame as this! Didst thou not see him redden when I did ask?"

"I did," said Magnus, with a wicked grin. "Nay, I do wonder what naughtiness he did recollect?"

They were all silent for a minute, imagining calamities.

"Fess would know," Gregory said suddenly.

"Aye, thou wouldst!" Geoffrey turned to Fess with a glint in his eye. "Nay, tell! What did chance when Papa did disobey Grandpapa?"

"That is his tale to tell, not mine," the robot said slowly.

"Oh, come, Fess!" Cordelia pleaded prettily. "Canst thou not give but a hint?"

"Your father's personal matters are confidential, children." Robots are immune to charm.

"But a clue," Magnus said, "is not telling."

"My programming does not allow disclosure of classified materials," Fess said sternly.

They were silent again, brains whirling in an attempt to bypass the program.

"Yet thou art free to tell us aught of thine
own
past," Gregory said.

Fess was silent a moment, then said, "I am, and will speak to you gladly of the history of your House and of your ancestors…"

"Only of our father," Gregory said quickly. He'd heard Fess's lectures before. "Canst thou not tell what
thou
didst when he did disobey?"

"Certainly not! At any point at which my own actions became involved in your father's personal matters, even my own memories become confidential!"

"I must learn Cobol," Gregory sighed.

"Wherefore wouldst thou wish to make
their
acquaintance?" Geoffrey frowned up at him. "Kobolds are vile creatures!"

"He speaks of the speech, not the speaker," Fess explained.

Geoffrey stared. "How… ?"

" 'Tis wizards' talk," Magnus said airily. "Of greater moment is thy past, Fess."

"You will not desist, will you?" Fess sighed. "Forebear the attempt, children—I shall not disclose your father's secrets, either accidentally or deliberately."

"Yet thou hast said thou wilt tell us of
thy
deeds," Magnus reminded. "Hast
thou
never disobeyed, Fess?"

Geoffrey glared at him in exasperation, but Gregory waved him back, eyes on Magnus. Geoffrey frowned up at him, but his frown turned to a stare as understanding dawned. He began to grin.

"Your question may be interpreted as referring to an action counter to my programming," the robot said slowly, "and in those terms, I must answer, 'No. I have never acted in violation of my program.' "

Geoffrey slapped his thigh in exasperation, but Gregory asked, "Yet what of the words of thy master? Didst thou never work counter to his commands?"

Fess was quiet long enough for Geoffrey to perk up again. Finally, the robot admitted, "There have been a few instances in which my owner's orders contradicted my program, yes."

"Then thou
didst
disobey!" Geoffrey crowed.

"Only to obey a higher authority," Fess said quickly. "Disobedience is not to be done at one's own whim, children."

"At whose whim is it, then?" Cordelia asked.

Fess emitted a burst of static, his equivalent of a sigh. "My basic program was designed by Peter Petrok, children, but it was tested, revised, retested, and finally approved by his section chief, then by the Vice President for Programming, by the President of Coherent Imperatives, Limited, and finally approved by a unanimous vote of the Board of Directors."

Geoffrey stared, somewhat stunned.

"Thus, in answer to your question," the robot went on, "disobedience is not done at anyone's whim, but at the considered, carefully weighed opinions of a group of responsible individuals, acting upon thorough evidence and elaborate validation, in accordance with well-established principles."

The children were silent, overawed.

Then Magnus ventured, "Wherefore was such a gamut needful?"

"Because a robot could do a great deal of damage, if adequate safeguards were not built into its programming," Fess answered. "You have seen the occasional, restrained attacks I have made in defense of your father, your mother, and yourselves, children. Imagine what I could do if I had no inhibitions at all."

"Thou wouldst be havoc infernal," Geoffrey said instantly, eyes wide. "Sweet Heaven, Fess! Thou couldst lay waste all of Gramarye!"

"That is a warranted conclusion," Fess agreed, "and I am only a general purpose robot, children, not specialized for warfare."

Gregory shuddered, and Geoffrey said, "That thou art restrained, praise the saints!"

"Or, at least, the originators of the study of robotics. The thought has crossed my mind occasionally, yes."

"Then how canst thou ever be permitted to disobey?" Cordelia said, frowning.

"When obedience would require me to wreak the devastation Geoffrey noted," Fess explained, "or even the injury of a living being, beyond what would be absolutely necessary to preserve my owner's safety."

Gregory frowned. "Dost thou say thou must needs guard other folk from thine owner?"

"That is perhaps an overstatement," Fess said slowly, "though I can think of circumstances in which it might apply."

"Yet it never hath, for thee," Cordelia inferred. "Who
hast
thou had need to guard from thy master?''

"Himself," Fess answered.

"What?"

"How can that be?"

"Wherefore would he…"

"Children,
chil
-dren," Fess admonished.

They quieted.

Fess sighed, "I see I must tell you how it happened, chronologically, or you will never understand the principle."

"Aye, do!" Cordelia crooked a knee around the saddlehorn, patted her skirt into place around it, and settled down to listen. "We attend, Fess."

"Do, for it becomes somewhat convoluted. I was brought to consciousness at the factory of Amalgamated Automatons, Inc., in accordance with a Coherent Imperatives program…"

"We have no wish to hear thy whole life," Geoffrey said hastily.

"You have asked for it, Geoffrey, for this incident befell with my first owner. He had purchased a new antigravity aircar, and the law required that such vehicles be equipped with guidance computers of the most recent model designed to safeguard human life. That 'latest model' was the FCC series, of which I was one…"

"Time enough for you to learn the business next year." Reggie's father handed him the check for a million. "All I want is, you should have a good time, Joe."

"How can I help it?" Reggie looked at the check, gloating. He was so grateful that he didn't even remind the old man about the name change. "Thanks, Pop!"

" 'S all right." The elder Vapochek waved his cigar negligently. "The dog bootie sales're going pretty good, and the parakeet sweater production is way up. We can afford some time for you to, like, sow your wild oats. Just get 'em outa your system." Pop gave a leering chuckle. "You got a lotta sowing to do, boy, if you wanna break
my
record—and I had to do it when I had time off from the steelworks!"

"Boy, you can bet I will, Pop! Starting with a sports car!"

"Oh?" Pop's eye glinted. "What you got your eye on?"

"One of those new Heatrash jobs, Pop, with the afterburners and the double-strength antigrav."

"Yeah, I heard about them. Got one of them new FCC robot brains for a guidance computer, don't it?"

"Yeah—and cashmere upholstery half a foot thick, a built-in autobar, 360-degree sound, light show on the ceiling…"

"So who's gonna be watching the ceiling?" And the elder Vapochek guffawed, waving the boy away with his cigar. "Go on, go have your fun! Just gimme a ride in it, you hear?"

The comely young lady stared as the aircar drifted out of its stall. At the wheel, Reggie noticed her attention and grinned, but pretended not to see her—so he was a bit crestfallen when she only sighed, shook her head, and walked on by below him. "Snooty broad," he growled.

"I do not recognize that command, master," the dashboard answered.

"I wasn't talking to
you
, bolt-brain!… Probably just jealous."